


Gotta Have It

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Dean, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, I got nostalgia for this ship so obviously the answer was filthy filthy porn, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somnophilia, Top Sam, no fucks were given this day, thirsty dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: Steps for a happy, healthy life:1) get on your brother's dick as often as possible2) repeat step one until happy and healthy





	Gotta Have It

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so - I know I've been out of the world of fic for a good long time now (romance has happened and it has been eating a lot of my time but honestly, I couldn't be happier) buuuuttttttt I am gonna try and rectify that to an extent. I was backtracking through my Wincest tag and thought to myself "this must happen" so here we are, playing my fave aesthetic and setup. Y'all know how it goes by now, so enjoy. (And if I'm rusty, please let me know.)

            Running with a raging boner is well, hard.  It wasn’t intended, Dean swears it wasn’t, but sometimes it happens.  Namely in the company of one Sam Winchester, and Dean can’t even pretend to feel shame for it anymore.  Sam grew the _fuck_ up in college, complete with lanky, powerful muscle and outrageously floppy hair that Dean likes to tie in knots with his fingers – again, involuntarily.

            Dean lets off another warning shot at the vamp fucking around up the stairs of his coven and does his best to adjust himself and oh, hello precome, nice of you to join the party.  Fucking fuck, Dean never used to get this wet but ever since Sam came back into his life he doesn’t think he’s ever actually stopped dripping.  Youthful quickies and admittedly awkward sex had turned into… near perfection.  Perfection that they perfect as often as possible.

            “Dean, I’m almost out of rounds.”  Sam’s crouching near the stairwell, bent so that his t-shirt is pulled up and the strip of flesh at his lower back shows – and holy fucking shit, the single glimpse that started Dean’s current pre-dick-ament. (He’ll tell Sam about his pun later, probably somewhere between sweaty post-hunt sex and before slow, make-out-and-jerk-off shower sex.  “Got more?”

            “Yeah, gimme a sec.”  Dean digs around in his left pocket and hands Sam six more silver bullets, shiny and perfect in their ballistic property.  Dean’s been trying for months to replicate them but to no luck whatsoever – they really need to get back to South Dakota soon for more.

            Sam’s fingers linger a moment longer than necessary as he takes them and loads four into the chamber of his revolver, and it makes Dean’s skin prickle even more.  “I’m really starting to get tired of chasing this guy.”  Sam grunts as he straightens, gun pointed upwards as he dares to take a look around the corner.  “ _Really tired.”_

Dean agrees.  “Big fucker too – are vamps on steroids nowadays, or what?”  Dean decidedly doesn’t look at Sam’s biceps, or the sweat stains under his armpits.  Add that to the ever growing list of things Dean didn’t know he was into but hell, Sweaty Sammy does it for him.  His dick agrees, insistent enough that Dean has to reach and adjust himself with his left hand while his gun stays pointed in the same direction as Sam’s.  
            Sam notices what Dean’s doing and sniffs a laugh through his nose.  “Seriously?”

            “Shut up.”  _It’s your goddamn fault anyway._ ”You gonna lead the charge, Custer, or you want me to go first?”

            “Nah, I’m good – I don’t hear him, guess it’s too much to ask if he died suddenly?”  Sam tests a foot against the stairs – the vamp will hear them coming for sure.  Ah well, not like he didn’t know they weren’t here already.

            “Sam, we’ve _never_ had that kind of luck.  Now move your ass.”  Dean pokes him in the back with his gun and Sam moves.  Those legs are awfully distracting too, even in jeans.   Not only that, but Dean doesn’t recall seeing the waistband of underwear, which means Sam probably isn’t wearing any – and his pants are riding low enough today to where Dean’s sure he would have seen it.  If the vampire doesn’t finish them off…

            Vamp first, Sam later.  Dean’s sweating even harder all of a sudden, and where it trickles down the crack of his ass just brings to mind all sorts of different wet things going there.

            The quick-moving shadow of an object being hurled at them brings Dean back to full attention, and the vase nearly takes him in the chest.  Sam had managed to flatten himself against the wall a split second before.  “Mother _fucker.”_ Sam spits the word like he’s got a personal vendetta against their vamp and shoots once in the direction of where the vase came from.

            Dean calls out “Throwing shit, seriously?”  Yeah, because taunting him will _totally_ work.

            Sam looks back at him, face scrunched like _seriously, you’re gonna do that_  and turns back around.  They’re at the landing and truly, there are only two places for him to go.  They had picked off the rest of the coven one by one over the last three weeks and it had only left this guy – the Alpha.  Who isn’t behaving like an Alpha vamp at all.  This guy’s probably survived as long as he has because he’s a fucking-

            “Coward,” Sam yells, going with Dean’s technique.  Good, more of Dean’s rubbed off on him than he’d previously thought.

            A low growl from the… ceiling?

            Fuck.

            _Fuck._

The roof suddenly opens and down comes their target, halfway on top of Sam and with his side to Dean.  A flash of horrible, sharp teeth and Sam cursing at the top of his lungs later and suddenly it’s a three way wrestling match, with Sam on the bottom and trying to keep tooth and claw away from his neck while Dean has the vamp in a half Nelson, trying to angle his gun so that he can blow the things brains out without getting Sam _that_ covered in gore.

            Or himself, for that matter, but mostly Sam.

            The vamp lets out this ear-splitting roar, loud enough that it would make most anyone shit themselves in terror.   Sam’s eyes go wide and alright, that means business.  Dean calls up the rest of his strength and manages to get the one-second window he needs.

            Dean swears he sees the bullet fly out the side of the vampire’s head, along with most of the contents of his skull.  Sam gets hit anyway, his shoulder and neck absolutely  covered in blood and gristle.

            Just as soon as he can, Sam’s out from under the vampire and kicking his body back and away from him.  “Gross.”

            “Just think of it as ‘so long as it’s someone else’s blood, then you’re okay’, right?  At least vamp blood isn’t acidic like-”

            Sam holds a hand up, which just makes Dean grin.  “Don’t, uh, don’t finish that sentence.”  He looks down at the still-twitching body of the vampire, disgust wrinkling his nose.  “I really don’t want to bury this guy.”

            Dean’s sore muscles and awareness of how goddamn _hot_ Sam looks right now – all sweaty and adrenaline flushed – don’t exactly make him want to play gravedigger either.  Not to mention that this guy is _heavy._ “You know we have to.”  Of course, they could just leave him and let the body rot.  That would be perfectly okay to do if they were in the middle of nowhere but this of course was one of those suburban vampires – and somehow, Dean doesn’t think the residents of Rock Hill would like the stench very much.  That is, if they haven’t already heard the gunshots. That’s a very likely reality as well.

            With a sigh, Sam tucks his gun in his waistband (wincing when the barrel touches his ass, which Dean finds to be unreasonably sexy) and dead lifts the body, throwing him over his shoulder like he’s the world’s most unfortunate fireman.   Brains and blood drip horribly from the vamp’s head wound, getting all over the back of Sam’s jeans and shoes.  Dean’s seriously going to owe Sam eternal blowjobs for this – the thought makes Dean’s jaw ache with memory. “Tell me we at least have room in the trunk for him.”

            “Nah, I figured I’d let him ride shotgun.” 

            If looks could cause injuries, Dean’s absolutely certain that he would have been shoved down the stairs just then. 

            They drive ten miles into the countryside, Sam still covered in blood and Dean still ragingly horny, before they decide that any one copse of trees will do just as well as the other.  Besides, they won’t be here long enough for it to matter if the body’s found.

            Dean pulls them down a hunting trail road (he’s just gonna have to hope no one is out in the woods at this hour) and sniper glances at Sam, who’s looking out the window and searching for a decent spot for burial.  He has his bottom lip tucked into his mouth, tongue running over it in concentration.  Stubble colors his cheeks dusky, enough to be called a beard in the next couple days.

            “I’m not gonna disappear, Dean.”  Sam doesn’t sound pissed really, just… exhausted.  That’s fair, and probably closest to what Dean’s feeling too.  Well, aside from arousal.  “And you know you can touch if you want.”  Sam’s voice takes on the slightest edge of heat and fuck Dean if he doesn’t say screw the body in the trunk and hop in Sam’s lap right there.

            “And right now there are vampire brains leaking all over my trunk lining.”  Even Dean isn’t really convincing himself with that one – that _you know you can touch if you want_ echoing in his mind.  Not only that but Sam is probably wanting this at least as much as he is, no matter that he’s covered in vamp innards.

            Sam smiles, just a little, and turns his gaze back to the window.  “Right – business before pleasure.”  He makes a point of letting Dean see him grope himself through his jeans and fuck yeah, Sam’s got a hard-on.   Dean’s mouth waters and his stomach drops with a fresh surge of desire.  He finally stops the car at a small clearing and before Sam has a chance to get out of the car, grabs him by the front of his sweat-damp shirt and shoves his tongue in his mouth.

            Sam’s little growl of surprise has Dean pressing harder, working Sam’s jaw open with his tongue.  Sam’s brain finally catches up with his hands and he pulls Dean close, not quite in his lap but hell, Dean doesn’t need to be there to _feel._ He breathes deep through his nose, getting hit with the scent of coppery, drying blood and Sam’s body, sweaty and dirty from fucking around in that old-ass house and underneath it, the very slightest hint of shampoo.  It drives Dean absolutely mad and before he realizes it, he’s got Sam’s belt unbuckled and his fingers working their way into his pants.

            “Dean, Dean, we gotta stop.”  Sam’s trying to laugh and talk at the same time, his hands under the back of Dean’s t-shirt and sending electric shocks up his spine with his fingernails.

            Dean ceases right as he’s about to get his fingers into Sam’s pubes, heat radiating out from that special, intimate place of his body.  Sam’s right, of course – Dean just doesn’t want him to be.  “I swear we’re gonna rent a-”

            A sudden, violent jolt rocks the Impala and Dean goes into full rumble mode, tearing himself away from Sam and immediately looking around.  He hopes to God that that vamp didn’t have anymore buddies, only to found out-

            “Bear.”  Sam’s reaching for his gun as the bear rears up and roars, coming down hard on the trunk and making the Impala rock on here wheels again.  Sam points and Dean grabs the gun, snarling “do _not_ shoot out my back window!”

            “DO YOU NOT SEE THE GODDAMN BEAR?”  Sam honestly looks terrified and fuck, Dean’s rattled too but it’s not like they can really go anywhere without hitting the bear (which fucks them over) or letting the bear have the…body. 

            Dean reaches for the trunk release and before his brain catches up with his actions, a second bear appears and soon they’re dragging the vampire’s corpse out and into the clearing, snarling and clawing and it isn’t long before there’s even more blood everywhere.  Dean doesn’t look so much at the body being torn apart but making sure the bears leave the area, the first bear finally getting the advantage and running off with the vamp by one leg.  Dean doesn’t know if vampire blood even turns bears but honestly, he doesn’t care.

            Sam’s face and body are frozen in shock, the very personification of _what the fuck_ if Dean ever saw it.  “That… did…”

            “Hey, it saves us from burying him – unless you just really want to get between two angry bears.”

            Sam shakes his head, still looking out the back window like he’s expecting the bear to pop up again.  “No, I… no.”  Sam puts his gun aside and looks at Dean, searching for some sort of logic in what just happened.  “Must have smelled the blood.”

            “Or you.”  Dean manages a smile and Sam’s back to normal in an instant, rolling his eyes and rebuckling his belt where Dean had undone it. 

            “We should probably make sure he didn’t fuck up the body.”  Sam starts to get out, looks at his bloody shirt, and just as quickly as he can takes it off and runs, tossing it in the direction the bears disappeared in.  Dean watches as he comes running back to the car, chest muscles bouncing and jeans pulled low enough that another inch or so and his dick root would be showing.

            Better out there closer to Sam than in here just looking.

            Dean gets out and joins Sam around the back of the car, gun in hand just in case.  “Fucking _animals_.” 

            There are a couple of  massive dents in the trunk lid and scratch marks so deep that Dean will likely have to repaint the entire thing.  The bumper is pushed up and bent (which means putting gas in the damn thing is gonna be difficult) and fucking hell, the left exhaust pipe is dangling.  Already Dean’s thinking of body shops he can take her to that won’t ask too many questions while he does the work necessary; South Carolina doesn’t offer many choices, and the only other one Dean knows well enough to give them safe harbor lives all the way in Macon, Georgia. 

            Hell, maybe she’ll make it that far.

            Dean snarls and slams the trunk closed, and of course it doesn’t quite shut correctly. Anger courses through his veins, cold and vengeful.  Sam doesn’t say a word, just lets him have his moment of grief – until another roar punctuates the air off in the distance and Dean looks around warily.

            “I ought to make a fucking rug out of him,” Dean says, trying to control the shaking that the come down of adrenaline is making him feel.  “I…”

            “Dean,” Sam murmurs, putting his hands on his hips from behind.  “We’re okay, we’ll fix it, alright?”  Sam hugs him tight and gives him a little kiss to the side of his neck, his nose brushing up behind Dean’s left ear.  Goddammit, Dean wants to be _angry_ but… but Sam’s touch feels really nice.  And he’s still horny.  And chasing that bear would mean just that much longer that he doesn’t get to have Sam and really, at the end of the day, the Impala _can_ be fixed…

            Sam’s fingers scritch up his ribcage, making his skin sizzle with fresh arousal.  “First thing’s first – I’m not fucking you until I’m clean and free of you know, vampire pathogens.”  Sam’s voice is this low, honey-warm growl, right in Dean’s ear.  “But your legs look awfully fuckin’ good in those jeans, Dean.”  Sam’s hands drop to Dean’s thighs and alright, _fuck yeah_ Dean sees where he’s going with this.

            “Always so considerate.”  Dean turns his head for a kiss and it’s enough to undo his anger a little further, reaching back to curl his fingers in Sam’s sweaty hair as he’s bent over the back of the car.  His dick swells again and Sam rubs himself against his ass, promising pretty much whatever Dean wants later.  Dean finally gets his chance to reach back and touch Sam some more, finding the outline of his cock and squeezing what he can. 

            “You’re not wearing underwear, are you?”  Dean licks the seam of Sam’s lips and rubs him a little harder, undoing his belt with his other hand.  Sam helps and soon, Dean’s bare ass is hanging out and his cock is awfully close to the hot metal of the car.

            “Nope – ran out yesterday.”  Sam’s right hand comes around to drag scratchy trails across Dean’s lower belly, his left coming up the inside of his right thigh, right up against the hang of his balls.  Sam gives them a gentle tug, just enough to make the head of Dean’s cock poke out of his foreskin.  “And let me tell you, I won’t be chasing vamps without skivvies on again.”

            “Little chapped there baby boy?”  Dean’s proud that he can string those words together, because he’s pretty sure Sam’s about to render him completely speechless.  Lube, they need lube, or Dean’s going to be rubbed raw too.

            “Little bit.”  Sam unbuckles his pants and a moment later they’re around his knees just like Dean’s.  Dean presses himself back against Sam’s cock, huge and hard and fucking _wet –_ Sam is a drippy, sticky motherfucker when he’s turned on – and moans when Sam nudges his balls, loose and heavy from the heat.  “Uh, hold on.” 

            Dean watches Sam’s ass while he goes around to the passenger door and gets the lube from the glove box, jeans held up loosely so he doesn’t trip and his bright pink cockhead glistening in the sun; Dean’s mouth waters, already planning a shower blowjob when they get back to the motel.

            “Haven’t done this in a while, huh?”  Dean obediently spreads his legs further when Sam comes back, lube already open and ready.  Dean doesn’t flinch even in the slightest when Sam starts to coat the insides of his thighs, generous and thorough.

            “Basically the same, Dean, just… not quite.”  Sam gives the back of Dean’s neck a little kiss as he finishes up and starts to slick his own cock up, quick and efficient from God knows how many times of doing this.  Dean watches intently as the head disappears and reappears in Sam’s foreskin, longer than his own and maybe even more sensitive.  Dean can’t wait to get his tongue under the hood but for now, this is gonna have to do and damn if he’s going to pass it up.

            Sam wipes the rest of the lube on Dean’s hole just to remind him that this is only the beginning.  “Don’t laugh at me if I don’t last too long but the sight of you bent over the trunk like this, well…”  Sam positions himself and slides himself between Dean’s thighs, his hands on his hips and his breath on his neck.

            “Yeah, definitely not laughing Sammy.”  Dean braces himself with his left hand and starts to jerk himself off, head dropping with the relief of _finally_ getting to touch himself, bears and vampires be damned.  He feels kind of dirty, out here in the fucking woods with his brother’s cock sliding hotly between his thighs and the stench of blood and sweat on them.  Dean knows he’s into some fucked up things but in all honesty, this ain’t that high up on the list. 

            “Good.”  Sam nips at his neck to get his attention and Dean turns his head enough to where they can manage a semblance of a kiss, biting and sexy and nowhere near enough.  Dean’s going to get his fill, goddammit, and then more because he loves this, loves kissing Sam and making him come so hard that neither of them can move.

            “Wanted to fuck you this morning, Dean” Sam confesses, speeding his hips up.  “Thought about eating you out until you woke up and the first thing you felt would have been my cock in your ass, filling you up so damned _good.”_

Well fuck Dean six ways to Sunday, he certainly wasn’t expecting dirty talk out of this – but Sam’s got a mouth on him, even if he does play innocent.  A nasty, rotten mouth that makes Dean shudder when the mood is right.  So what if that happens to be pretty much always?

            “Why didn’t you?”  Dean bears his neck a little and Sam bites, making Dean’s cock jump in his hand and the slow fire of climax edge that much closer to a full roar.  “You know you can do that, Sammy.”

            “Wanted to save it.”  Sam’s thrusts are getting more and more insistent, body going into auto-pilot – which means he ain’t thinking with his upstairs brain anymore.  “Wanted to ride that high after our hunt, get you right in that sweet place between adrenaline and crashing.”  Sam bites, kisses again, claiming Dean even though he doesn’t have to, because Sam has him locked heart and soul.

            He loves him, truly he does.

            “You’re getting me in the sweet place alright.”  Dean’s vision goes starry as his own rough fingers rub the head of his cock, enhanced by the deliciously heavy weight of Sam behind him.  He’s close, and Sam is too.  The back of Dean’s balls are covered in sweat and lube, _wet like he’s got a cunt, holy fuck_ and that realization is all it takes.

            Dean blows a massive fucking load all over the black, dented metal of his car, Sam right behind him and shooting even further than Dean where his cock is stuck between his thighs, shouting into the damp cotton of Dean’s t-shirt.  Dean knows exactly how he feels, all of that tension and terror and general horror of the day being wiped out in an instant, leaving them with nothing but heavy breaths and the tangy, masculine smell of come all over the place.

            Sam peels himself from Dean and hauls his pants up, smacking Dean on the ass a couple times to bring him back around.  “C’mon – we better go before more bears show up.”

            “There are more?”  Dean could care less at the moment, too busy enjoying his afterglow to be concerned with a freaking bear.  “Where?”

            “Look, if they smelled blood…”

            He’s got a point, as much as Dean would rather him not.  With a sigh he pulls up his pants, ignoring the tacky feeling of come and lube between and on top of his thighs.  “You owe me for ruining my post-coital bliss.”

            “Dean, you can spoon me all night if you want but seriously, I’d rather not my obituary read ‘man found mauled to death with his cock hanging out’ – you don’t, right?”  Even Sam smiles when he realizes how ridiculous that sounds but yeah, Dean would rather not find out if bears and God knows what else are attracted to the scent of come.

            “All night?”

            Dean can get on board with that.

___

            Death honestly cannot come soon enough – and even then, he may not even be aware of that moment.

            A week out of South Carolina while making their way across the South and all it had taken was one roadside burrito truck.  Dean had had a particular craving and the temptation had just been too great.   He ate two and not even ten minutes down the road had started to regret that choice immensely.  Hell, his fucking guts had hurt so bad he had to cede control of the Impala over to Sam.

            Thank God that truck stop had come up or Dean would have had to detail the entire front half of Baby.  And yes, Dean’s had food poisoning before.  You don’t get the best tastes of the land of the free and the brave without some risk taking – but this had been bad, and even three days later he’s still suffering.

            Sam had been particularly hover-y, not so much concerned that Dean’s asshole is literally on fire but dehydration.  Dean’s had so much water and Powerade over the last few days that he thinks his insides might be blue from the dye by now.  Well… what of them he hasn’t shit out.  There can’t be too much left in him, there just _can’t._

            Right now, he’d settle for just getting up to feel his intestines burn once a night.  He’s afraid to go to sleep for making a mess of the bed and goddammit, that’s not only disgusting but humiliating as well.  Sam hasn’t said a single word about his condition, at least not verbally.  No, Sam’s been great, _really_ great.  Right by his side even though Dean feels like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.

            By God, it makes Dean want him even more.

            Right now it’s just past dawn, with little orange rays of sunlight peeking through the tight slats of their motel room ( _one king size bed, no that’s not a problem, and it hasn’t been for some time now, thank you ma’am_ ) and Dean still hasn’t fallen asleep yet.  Oklahoma mornings are really quite beautiful, and Dean kind of wishes he felt well enough to go outside and watch it.  God, he’s seen so many daybreaks from either being on the road and on the hunt and while he won’t admit it, he loves seeing the sun rise.  Means they’ve survived another day to do that they do. 

            Another day with Sammy.

            Dean turns his head and looks over at him, his hair flopped across his forehead so that he barely can see his closed eyes, one arm tucked under the pillow and the other drawn up tight to his chest.  He’s been like that since he fell asleep a little past midnight, right after Dean got up for the last time to use the bathroom.  Hell, Sam probably intended to watch him all night until exhaustion got the better of him.

            “Masochistic bastard,” Dean whispers.  He reaches up to brush Sam’s hair back, gently enough that he doesn’t wake him.  Sam’s been doing a lot of the driving here lately and Dean intends to let him rest as long as he wants  before they start the next leg of their journey to Sioux Falls for a resupply run.

            He doesn’t stop with just stroking Sam’s hair, either.  He runs his fingers over the curve of his jaw (clean shaven, unfortunately, but Dean won’t grill him for it) and over his neck,  pressing his fingertips to his pulse point and feeling out the slow, steady thud of Sam’s heart.  Dean stops breathing for a moment to try and hear it, closing his eyes.

            Dean can’t quite match his own to Sam’s pace, but he tries.

            Down Sam’s neck and over the curve of his tricep, bulging and muscular even at rest.  Christ, Sam’s got _fantastic_ arms – Dean suddenly wants to be picked up and fucked standing.  Sam could do it, God he could.  He doesn’t hurry in his spontaneous exploration, Sam still dead asleep.  He’s actually starting to not focus on his roiling guts, far more interested in feeling out Sam’s warm, inviting body.

            The blankets are drawn up around Sam’s middle and honestly, it’s warm enough that Dean can peel them back without losing much change in temperature.  Gently he slides them down to Sam’s legs; like Dean, he’s naked.  Not for the purpose of sex, but for contact.  They both place a premium on deep touch and Dean kind of wants it as soon as possible.  Freaking food poisoning, cock blocking him…

            Sam mutters in his sleep but doesn’t wake, burying his face deeper in his pillow.  Dean waits one beat, two, three before he continues.  Over Sam’s hip he does, around the curve of his ass and down to his thigh, all very slowly.  His breath catches in his throat once he finally reaches Sam’s cock, hard because he’s a guy and it’s morning.  It’s sort of tucked under Sam’s thigh where he’s lying on his side, foreskin closed over the glans and with it the very faintest glint of precome. 

            Dean really, _really_ wants a taste.

            When Sam’s awake, Dean makes sure he drives him absolutely crazy with this.  In the Impala, bar restroom stalls, out in the goddamn woods if he wants.  Right now, Dean’s about to do this for his own benefit.  Ignoring the rumble of protest in his stomach, Dean manages to roll Sam over on his back without waking him up (Dean can’t even be mad, given that truly deep sleep eludes Sam so much these days.)  His cock juts up and lies against his belly, his balls heavy but tight from the cooler air now that he’s no longer on his side.

            “Fuck, Sammy, so fuckin’ _big._ ”  Dean doesn’t touch himself just yet, far more interested in exploring more of his brother.  He rubs the tip of his index finger around the inside, finding Sam far more wet than he thought. Dean pulls down his foreskin and yeah, _yeah_ his glans is coated, involuntary arousal suddenly the most beautiful thing in the world.

            Dean’s stomach grumbles, loud enough that he should absolutely stop what he’s doing and make sure he’s going to be okay.  He waits a second – a long second – and waits for it to subside.  Seriously, fuck everything about food poisoning.  Sam’s actually breathing even more deeply, not in the least bit bothered by being jostled in his sleep. (Years of midnight absconcions from hotels and things while being carried by John have left him with an ability to sleep through most anything.  Dean tries not to think about how he’d curl around an eight year old Sam in the back of the Impala the moment they were on the road again, hoping Sammy kept resting.)

            Sam’s cock pulses, and more precome leaks out onto Dean’s fingers.

            Oh.

            _Right._

“So fuckin’ wet baby boy,” Dean murmurs, moving himself close enough that he can feels Sam’s body heat on his face.  He loves to wake Sam up like this, all slow and warm and languid.  This isn’t the time to hurry, not since they have hours until checkout and absolutely nowhere to be for at least a day or so.  He kisses Sam’s thigh and keeps going up to his hip, trying to match the fading bruises left by their last hunt and his own mouth. (It’s a weirdly competitive thing to see who can leave marks that last longer – Dean has yet to lose but Sam will bite the _shit_ out of him to make up for it.) 

            Sam’s still dead to the world – it’s just as well, because Dean wants to admire for a bit before he does anything else.

            He didn’t used to have chest hair, not even a wisp.  Hell, it took Sam a long time to grow decent facial hair.  Now though?  He’s got this beautiful dusting of the stuff, just enough to make those rippling pecs look a thousand percent more manly.  Dean runs his fingers through it, the hair darker than even that on his head, listening to the barely-there scritch of it under his fingers.  His nipples are hard too, pulled tight into little peaks that Dean very much wants to put his mouth on.

            One thing at a time.

            He rolls and pinches at the right one while he starts to stroke Sam’s cock, his eyes glued to Sam’s face for any signs of waking.  Sam moans softly, his lips parting ever so slightly – which just turns Dean on even more.  God, he hasn’t even bothered to touch himself yet because he was so caught up in feeling Sam.  He can feel his own wetness, sticky against his thigh and belly where he’s contorted his body. (He knows his stomach hurts like hell right now but he’s choosing to ignore it.)

            Sam’s thickening even further, between Dean playing with his tits and stroking his dick like it’s his only purpose in life, his body starting to shift and squirm in accordance.  Dean knows he’s going to wake up eventually and no, it won’t be a bad thing but hell, this is awfully fucking hot, just getting to touch and admire.  He turns his focus to Sam’s foreskin, watching it slide up, down, up down, drawing it between his fingers and gently pinching the same way he’s doing with his nipple.

            “ _Dean.”_

Dean looks back and Sam’s still asleep – but he’s got this serene yet frustrated look on his face, like he’s in the middle of what Dean hopes like hell is an incredibly sexy dream about him.

            Which means it’s time to stop teasing and give Sam what Dean wants to give him.  He counts it as a good sign that it’s the first time in days he’s actively felt like having a cock in his mouth – even if he’s not sure of his deep throating skills at the moment.  Ah well, not once has Sam ever complained about having just his head and foreskin worshiped.

            And Dean’s a damned good member of that particular church.

            He stretches out so that he can brace himself with his left arm over Sam’s stomach, the other between Sam’s slightly spread legs so that he can slowly jerk the bottom half of Sam’s cock.  One attempt at going past the head tells him that no, he can’t take more than that today – that’s fine, _absolutely_ fine.  He tongues at Sam’s slit to get more precome out, instantly rewarding with salty-sweet that will stick around long after this is over.  His foreskin closes over Dean’s tongue, beautiful in its looseness and alright, Dean’s just a little jealous that his own is tighter, shorter – but Sam makes it seem like neither of those disadvantages exist.

            Dean sucks slowly, _deeply,_ determined to make this last as long as he can, whether Sam is awake or not. It’s a challenge to make Sam come in his sleep but it can be done, even if he is noisier when his eyes are open.  (Dean loves to go down on Sam after they’ve been drinking, preferably behind a bar where Sam’s mind loses the inhibition of _quiet_ and instead _fuck, Dean, that feels so fucking good_  takes over.  Reallly, really good shit.)  Dean sucks him at half that intensity now, occasionally moving his lips down one side or the other to Sam’s pubes (trimmed but not enough to be really considered neat) and inhaling very deeply the scent of Sam’s sleep-sweat body.

            On his way back up to the head, Sam wakes up.

            “Dean?”  He blinks slowly, tongue wetting his lips so that he can speak more easily.  “What…”

            “Don’t feel so bad that I can’t do this for you, Sammy.”  Dean doesn’t break eye contact as he takes the head back in his mouth and sucks hard enough to wipe the bleary look from Sam’s face.

            The answering moan is fucking _music_ to Dean’s ears.

            Sam rests his read gently on the back of Dean’s head, those long, strong fingers curled tightly in his unwashed, ungeled hair.  Dean doubles up on his efforts, wanting to give Sam that bliss.  Between Dean’s mouth and the still lifting veil of sleep, Sam can’t do much more than moan and gasp his appreciation – like Dean really needs more than that anyway. 

            He knows Sam’s about to come a moment before Sam does, feeling his cock thicken impossibly wider and his balls draw up in his hand where he’s pulling on them.  Sam cries out a slurry _Dean_ as he blows, Dean’s mouth halfway over him so that he can watch the mess he makes (and as much as loves him, Dean doesn’t think he could handle swallowing right now.)

            “’S good, Dean, really…”  Sam doesn’t manage more than that, making a grab for Dean the moment his orgasm has subsided and kisses him,  far harder than he should for someone who was dead asleep moments ago, stale breath and come and Sam’s dry lips all hitting Dean at one time, getting more turned on than he should be by that particular combination.  Dean’s arousal is starting to border on “blue balls inducing” and Christ, he wants to come so fucking badly but right now, he’s still basking in _I made Sam blow._

So sue him, he loves doing it for him.

            Sam breaks the kiss, his hands on Dean’s back and head, imploring him to move.  “Fuck my face,” he murmurs, and Dean isn’t going to say no, not even if he had a gun to his head.

            It takes a moment to get the positioning right but soon Sam’s head is hanging off the edge of the bed and Dean is standing on wobbly legs, guiding himself to Sam’s hot, _perfect_ mouth.  Dean knows exactly how far he can push with this, knows exactly how to get himself off without hurting Sam.  In, out, in, out his cock slides, Sam’s body spread before him, cock still hard and his body still glistening with spunk.  It’s a fucking fantastic view, a million times better than any porn because this is Dean’s, and Dean’s only.

            He doesn’t last nearly as long as Sam but to be fair, he had that one coming.  Nothing gets him turned on like giving Sam head, and he knows it.  Well… almost nothing. 

            “Fucking shoot on my face, Dean,” Sam demands, tilting his head up so that both that those gorgeous lips and his neck are on display – and Dean fucking blows all over him, pent-up desire and the fact that it’s _Sam_ making him shoot far and long, all the way down to Sam’s lower belly and over everything in between.

Next thing he knows, Dean’s on his ass on the floor the moment it’s over, body and strength temporarily spent.

 “God, _Dean.”_ Sam’s there in a second, pulling Dean onto his lap so quickly that Dean gets rug burn on his naked thighs.  Dean’s mind goes blank, between Sam’s nasty-ass come kisses and some very powerful aftershocks that almost make Dean think he’s going to end up coming again.

It isn’t long before both of them very much need a shower.  Fuck, if you’re gonna do something, you may as well do it as messily and enjoyably as possible.

“So – why the wakey wakey head and bakey, Dean?” Sam asks after Dean’s used the bathroom and they’re sitting in the tub together (an absurd rarity, but Dean will seize upon it every time he can.)

“Because you’ve actually been pretty good about me being down and out the last few days.”  Dean’s got Sam lying against him, all broad shoulders and wet hair, Dean’s soapy fingers moving steadily over the glorious expanse of his torso. 

Sam scoffs, reaching back for Dean’s hair now that he’s got his hands lathered with shampoo.  “You expected me not to?”

“Duh? “  Dean kisses the back of Sam’s head (it’s overtly sweet but he’s too fucked out to care) and keeps talking.  “Where was the whole ‘I can’t see a health rating Dean, you shouldn’t eat that’ bit?”

“You seemed awfully excited at the time.”  Sam’s got this lilt to his voice that betrays…

“Wait – you didn’t say anything because-”

“Karma, Dean – this is what you get for making me carrier that dead vamp.”

Sometimes, Dean will freely admit that the universe hates him so no reason.

Other times?

He thinks Sam encourages it to do so.

___

After two hours of Sam looking absolutely confused, Dean’s really starting to worry.

Yes, they’ve both lost their memories occasionally, or been subject to some spell that leaves them dissociating with their surroundings – but there hasn’t been anything in the last couple days that Dean can think of that would cause that.  Sam’s breathing and sleeping as normally as manageable (ha) so it can’t be physical.

Of course, this isn’t so much a “I have no idea what’s going on” confusion as it is an “I’m trying to remember” confusion.  That’s not out of the realm of Sam’s normal facial expressions.  Sam thinks a lot.  He’s one of the few people that Dean’s ever met that derives genuine pleasure from just sitting and using his brain.  Alright, Dean can too but honestly he would rather seek out more, well, visceral, past times.

They’re sitting in Lou’s Diner in the great city of Olympia, Washington, watching the mid-afternoon sun glint and reflect off the retro-silver polished surfaces.  Sam’s eaten what’s on his plate but Dean doesn’t think he’s tasted a bit of it.  Dean’s on dessert now and Sam’s expression hasn’t changed.

“Alright,” Dean says, “you’re either constipated or something’s bugging you, so spill.”  Dean wipes his mouth of flaky pie glaze and manages to make eye contact with Sam. The sun makes his eyes more greenish in hue and Dean honestly has to make himself blink because _damn._

Sam doesn’t even notice.

“We’ve been here before, right? In Olympia.”  Sam gestures out the window next to their booth.  “Once?”

“Twice.  The first time you were maybe three.  The second you were… ten?  Both times for ghosts.”  In fact, a ghost is what’s brought them back here this time.  Well, Dean _thinks_ it’s a ghost, based on the report Sam pulled a couple days ago.  They’ve been in town just long enough to check in someplace, find a map, and get a bite, so certainty is still forthcoming.

“Yeah, I thought so.  But there was _something_ else, Dean.”  His eyes are passionately bright, imploring Dean to try and think with him.

“Sammy, I… wait.”  Near where that second ghost had been, there had been a

“Barney’s Book Boutique.”  Sam says, a smile spreading across his face.  “I remember thinking it was cool because of the name and Dad bought me _Redwall_ when we were there.”

A flood of memories comes back, a teenaged Dean being sat down by his kid brother so that he could read it to him because he loved it so damn much, complete with different voices for each character.  “You carried that thing around until the pages fell out of it.”

“And was _pissed_ when I finally had to throw it away.”  Sam looks out the window like he can see it from here and Dean knows in a heartbeat that he’s going to take him there.  God damn it if Sam’s enthusiasm isn’t infectious.

And alright, Dean’s always wanted to know what happened in the next book too.  Those mice were metal as _fuck._

“Research first, bookstore second.  We are here on a job, Sam.”

Sam’s smile doesn’t diminish in the least. The again, he’s always been pretty good about delayed gratification.

 

___

It takes them two days, a very boring ghost hunt, and an unnecessarily long salt and burn before they finally make it to Barney’s.

Not much has changed in the intervening fifteen years since they were last here.  There’s still the same inviting smell of paper, leather, and ink coming together in a scent that Dean could only describe as intoxicating.  Sam’s always chided him for not reading more but in truth, Dean actually reads quite a lot – just not the same stuff Sam does.  Or _when_ Sam does. 

Their salt and burn had wound up taking most of the night and by the time they had awakened and showered, the sun was starting to dip in the horizon, which means they have an hour and a half at most to browse before Barney locks up.  Barney’s a cool old guy, a lot like Bobby without the prickliness.  Oh and also if Bobby rode a vintage Harley and talked endlessly about how Hemingway wasn’t worth a damn and if you _really_ wanted to get the pulse of “The Lost Generation,” then read Ezra Pound.

Dean likes him a lot. 

He actually lost Sam quite some time ago, having been browsing true crime while Sam had disappeared up to the second level of the store, intent on not only _Redwall_ but also something called _Hyperion._   That one had left Dean scratching his head and an _okay, Sammy, get whatever you want._

Barney’s turning the closing sign on the door when Sam finally reappears, something like twenty books under his arms and an enormous grin on his face.

“Barney has all of them,” he says, proudly showing off his purchases.  “What did you find?”

Dean had picked three books, completely opposite of what Sam had gotten.  “Jim Jones biography, _The Guns of August,_ and _Dune_.”  Sam gives him a look at the last title, one of those _really, you’re into that?_ Expressions that tends to crop up when he’s questioning his taste.

“Shut up, I’ve only ever seen the godawful movie.”  Seriously, it was _atrocious._

Sam shrugs as best he can and carries his books to the counter, already eying his books like he does Dean when he really, _really_ wants to fuck him.

Heat stirs in Dean’s belly, and he suddenly has an idea about how to turn that gaze on him.

Barney locks up behind them, bidding them both good evening and happy reading.  Dean doesn’t take his eyes off of Sam as they get in the car, thinking about how it’s been a few days.  Yeah there was a “we’re bored and have nothing better to do” grinding session last night while their corpse was crackling but beyond that… fuck, Dean didn’t realize just how horny he was until he thought about it.  And if he’s wanting it that much, Sam _has_ to be there as well. 

            Later, Dean will realize that he didn’t even have to try to get in Sam’s pants.  Not this time, at least.

            Dean’s not even in his seatbelt yet when he’s abruptly pulled to the side by his shirt, his mouth crashing into Sam’s with force enough that he loses his breath for a second.  Sam’s tongue jams itself into Dean’s mouth, sliding against his all slick and wet, his left hand traveling up Dean’s inner thigh.

            It takes a minute for Dean to catch up completely but he does manage to break away for just a second, long enough to ask “before we get arrested for indecency – and I mean this as nicely as possible – but _what the fuck, Sammy?”_

“Uh… as thanks.”  Sam sits back a little, enough to where he can see Dean in full focus.  “Seriously.  I know it’s a stupid reason but-”

            Dean puts a finger to Sam’s lips and looks deep into his eyes.  “Sam, you never, _ever_ need a pretense for this, okay?  I mean, you’re welcome, but…” 

            He realizes he’s lost track of what he’s saying, because Sam’s bedroom eyes are turned up to a hundred right now.

            “I can… show you my appreciation anyway, can’t I?”

            If that appreciation Sam’s tongue or dick in any of his various orifices then yes, he absolutely can.

            The drive back to the motel isn’t all that long but Sam doesn’t let up anyway, rubbing Dean through his jeans hard enough that it honestly feels like skin on skin contact.  Dean’s wet enough already with anticipation but Sam does his absolute best to amplify that – and Dean doesn’t need to turn his head to know that Sam’s looking at him with his “I’m gonna fucking _rail_ you” eyes.  Jesus, how many different times and circumstances has he been on the receiving end of that particular look?

            Dean suspects that the answer surpassed “countless” quite some time ago.

            Sam doesn’t even bother getting his books out of the car, or really even wait for them to come to a full stop.  He’s charging out of the passenger door and making his way over to Dean’s side, pulling him up and out that were it not for the heat of the moment (and to anyone watching) Dean would think he was about to be mugged.

            But who said Dean doesn’t like it a little rough?  Hell, he’s probably the reason why Sam is such a fucking _animal_ between the sheets.

            Or against the side of the car – semantics.

            “Don’t move.”  Sam’s voice has taken on this unsettlingly sexy growl and Dean doesn’t move save for pressing his body against Sam’s when Sam kisses him, hard and deep.  It’s this fiery mix of passion, hunger, and devil-may-care exhibition, and Dean’s swept up in it.  He kisses Sam  back, mouth open wide so that he can get his tongue sucked, moaning when Sam’s hands move up his sides and his thumbs rub over his nipples.

            Dean knows he’s gonna get the life fucked out of him.  That’s an absolute – but it’s going to be on Sam’s terms today.  Yeah, Dean will admit without hesitation that he’s a bossy bottom but right now?  Sam’s in charge, through and through.

            Sam breaks their kiss, his forehead resting against Dean’s.  He’s smiling in between panting breaths, those knock-‘em-dead dimples winking in and out of existence.  “I…”

            “Yes, you.”  Dean licks at Sam’s mouth and rubs his back.  “You’re gonna make sure I can’t sit for a week, aren’t you?”  Fuck all if those words don’t bone Dean up another notch – and he’s hard as a rock already.

            “Goddamn right, Dean.”  Sam gives him another brief, boxer-dropping kiss and grabs Dean by the hand, impatient as he hurriedly locks the car up.  They’re on the first floor, not but four doors away.  With the way Sam’s moving Dean almost feels like he’s carried there, sucked up into the vortex.

            “You gonna let me get the door open or just take me dry right here, baby boy?”  Dean rubs his ass against Sam’s crotch, fiddling with the keys deliberately longer so that Sam will do that growl again.

            Sam smacks Dean’s ass (oh _fuck_ yes) and gets in a good nip at his neck.  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

            Dean grins, finally turning the key in the lock and whipping around to catch Sam as they stumble in.  “Not if you ever want this again, you wouldn’t.  Yeah it looks hot in porn but…”

            “In real life, yeah, I get it.” Sam’s got his hands on Dean’s ass, kneading and groping like he’s found lost treasure of some sort.  “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you.”  All that touching isn’t doing much more than to make Dean feel like he’s missing something vital, like this is the culmination of weeks of wanting Sam on an insanely deep level.  More than that, it isn’t a post hunt fuck, or a post bar fuck – it’s because they goddamn _can._

Dean tries not to let that exhilaration spill out too much, instead guiding Sam backwards towards the bed.  “I know you wouldn’t – you’d hit the floor cold before you even got yourself out.”  Dean times it so that Sam’s right about to reply as they go down, far enough up so that not too much of them is hanging over the side of the bed.  “And you know how much getting knocked out hurts.”

            “Yeah, and you hit _really_ fucking hard.”  Sam’s braced above him on his arms, keeping a little distance so that he can keep dry humping Dean – which is fantastic, but absolutely not what Dean wants.  “Speaking of fucking hard…”

            “Way to remember your own idea, Sammy.”  Dean braves and laughs through Sam pinching his nipple, fully deserving it but probably not _that_ hard.

            Okay, yes that hard.

            Sam reaches under the pillow and gets their bottle of lube, placing it next to Dean’s head before he comes back for another kiss.  This time it’s slower, more sensual, drawing them both deeper so that Dean has a second to fit himself better to Sam, scratching up and down the whole length of his spine and into the back of his pants, pulling at Sam’s hips in the hopes that it gets them naked faster.

            It almost works.

            Sam leaves Dean’s mouth and starts going for his neck, adding to the hickies that already adorn his skin like some accidental choker.  Dean lets him have it, seizing the chance to at least get their pants undone.  Yeah, getting his neck worshiped isn’t exactly conducive to the careful art of not catching your tackle in your zipper but Dean’s not only resourceful but very, _very_ horny.

            Dean gets his jeans just loose enough to where he won’t hurt himself and pushes against Sam’s chest.  “Up.”

            “I wasn’t done yet.”  Sam raises himself far up enough off of Dean to where he can pull his pants off, reaching down to take off Dean’s boots with the rest of their clothing.

            “That’s fine – but I want you naked.”  If Sam wants to suck on his neck more – be my guest, Sammy, I’m not gonna kick you off, but I want to touch your fucking body.  “All the way naked.”  Dean has his shirt off in a second, left only in his amulet and socks.

            He likes that idea far more then he probably should.

            Sam strips his shirt off like he’s about to pose for a photo shoot, looking down at Dean with renewed lust.  “That _is_ better.”

            Dean doesn’t bother to say anything, putting his hands all over Sam’s naked chest and abs.  “ _Fuck._ ”  Dean tries not to let it get to him that Sam is fucking _ripped -_ he doesn’t like to have attention drawn to it, mostly of the time simply seeing his muscles as a necessity for the job.

            But fuck Dean right on to hell and back, Sam is fucking _hot,_ and he’s not going to let him soon forget it.

            “Hey, I’m up here.”  Sam moves so that his face is in Dean’s direct line of sight, another smile on his face.  Dean lets out an exaggerated huff, unable to stop himself grinning back at Sam.

            “Yes, I like you for your brain as much as your body – now will you fuck me?”  Dean’s perfectly okay with getting dicked while groping Sam’s tits, truly, just so long as at least the former happens.

            “Well… not yet.”

            Dean doesn’t even get the chance to say “why.”

            Sam literally pulls the bottom half of Dean’s body up to his face, sucking on his balls for thirty glorious seconds before he’s got his tongue shoved as deep as he can get it at the moment in Dean’s hole.  Dean’s voice catches, stumbling over _what the hell, Sam_ and _fuck yeah –_ it comes out as a slurry mess of half-formed syllables that he’s pretty sure Sam will know what they mean.

            Not that he’s doing much talking, because god _damn._ Sam eats ass like a champ and ever since Dean first let him back when he was in 11th grade, he’s been kind of insatiable since. 

            Dean fucking _loves_ it.

            Sam growls again and realizing that Dean’s starting to go a little red in the face, lowers him back to the bed – but he doesn’t take himself away, not at all.  He wraps his arms around Dean’s thighs and pulls him in, face hidden by Dean’s now ridiculously hard cock.  He reaches for himself and strokes, precome seeping from his slit and starting to make a frothy mess where it’s inside his foreskin. God, even that little bit of stimulation to himself has him soaring towards the point of no return and he stops, determined to not blow his load before Sam’s balls deep inside him.

            “That’s it Sammy, work that fuckin’ tongue in.”  Alright, he’s coherent enough for that.  Sam just digs his fingers into his thighs even harder, nose pressed flat against Dean’s perineum.  A base, secretive part of Dean really wants to see Sam eat pussy, because he’d probably do well enough she’d squirt all over him.  That thought has Dean reeling even harder, and he has to pinch the head of his cock to stop his orgasm.

            Damned filthy mind.

            “You good?”  Sam looks up, his chin and lips covered with saliva and holy shit, when did Dean start running his fingers through his hair?  Sam’s normally neat brown strands look like he’s been standing in the wind for an hour, and a couple of the longer ones are attached to the side of his mouth.

            “Yeah, I… I’m fine.  You though – get the fuck up here.”  Dean doesn’t give him a choice, pulling Sam by the shoulders and crashing their mouths together, another deep, _sloppy_ kiss, the soft click of the lube opening and oh _fuck_ yes, Sam’s warm, strong fingers touching Dean’s hole.  Fuck fuck _fuck_ he knows what’s coming, two minutes of hurried prep (in which Sam finds his prostate about sixty times) and then God he knows what’s coming, two minutes of hurried prep (in which Sam finds his prostate about sixty times) and then hell _yes,_ Sam lubing up his bare cock.

            Dean spreads himself as wide as his legs will go and for about a minute the world whites out to the point of imperceptibility as Sam pushes in, slowly, gloriously, until they’re both shuddering and sweating a lot more than they were a moment ago.

            Sam gets himself together first, even with Dean reflexively clenching around him – “how the _fuck_ did you get tighter?”

            “Did I?”  Dean tries his hardest to not let that come out as a squeak but it kind of happens anyway – but that’s fair, because he currently feels like he’s got a telephone pole shoved up his ass.

            “Fuck, I… maybe, Dean, just…”  Sam grabs the pillows and pushes them under Dean’s bottom and thank you _Jesus_ that makes it so much better, letting Dean feel Sam’s whole length and girth without it being life-threatening.

            “I know, Sammy – but for the love of God if you don’t fuck me I will do it-”

            Dean knows he can’t get pregnant but with the way Sam just pulled out and then fucked back in?  It’s a fucking possibility.  Hell, Sam went right past railing all the way up to power-top-breed-your-ass mode, and Dean, well, Dean’s going to be okay with it.

            Sam’s kissing him again, hotly, wildly, fucking Dean with these long, incredible strokes that aren’t just hips, no, he has to fucking _roll_ his pelvis so that Dean can’t fucking move, all he can do is take.  He’s got his legs wrapped around Sam’s waist, not even feeling them because he’s getting fucked so goddamn good.  Sam keeps his arms above his head, pinned with his left hand while he strokes Dean with his right, synchronous to the movements of his body.  He doesn’t variate much from keeping his focus right on the glans, pulling up Dean’s foreskin and rubbing his rough fingers inside.

            Dean’s being driven absolutely _wild,_ enough that he can’t do anything but moan into Sam’s mouth.  God, Sam’s a fucking force of nature like this, breeding Dean without so much as a thought and Dean lets him, not even stopping to think about how sore he’s going to be later.  No, because this is them, go hard or go home – and Dean’s going to let Sam go as hard as he fucking can.

            “Fuck, Dean, so fucking _good.”_ Sam pulls him closer (which Dean didn’t realize was possible) and manages to maneuver them so that Dean’s knees are pushed up and Sam’s body is exposed, every muscle and vein in his torso exposed.  Dean gets his hands free and grabs Sam’s hips, goading him to go _harder._

“God, that’s it baby boy, breed me good and _deep_.”  His prostate is begging for release, his body aching from the punishment Sam’s transmuted into fucking – he’s close, _Christ_ he’s close – but not until Sam gives it to him.  This is how it goes, both of them seeing just how far they can push towards the break point without actually crossing it.

            “Gonna knock you the fuck up Dean, gonna come so fucking _deep_ inside you that you taste it.”  Sam’s voice is hoarse, threatening – but that ain’t a threat, it’s a huge fucking turn on and Dean gasps with the timing of Sam’s hips, feeling exactly what Sam means.  If they had more foresight, Dean would absolutely be letting him pin him on his stomach and going slow and deep – but not now, not when Dean’s about to rip apart at the seams.

            Sam watches himself, then back to Dean’s eyes, then back to where their bodies are joined, Dean’s cock angry red and swollen with need.  Sam dives for another kiss, capturing Dean’s mouth and just as fast as he can jerks Dean off, shortening the length of his strokes that he hits his sweet spot over and over again.

            Dean lasts about thirty seconds before he blows his fucking brains out through his dick, coating himself and the headboard.  Sam cries out right in the middle of Dean’s orgasm and he feels it, fucking feels Sam shooting inside him and then his come smearing all over his hole where Sam keeps fucking in and out of him.  It’s a complete and beautiful overload, enough that Dean’s refractory period shortens drastically and hot on the heels of his first climax, another follows and shakes him so deeply that he has to cling to Sam’s neck, crying into his skin and hoping to God that he’s going to be in one piece when he opens his eyes again.

            Sam doesn’t let him go, and Dean doesn’t exactly fall – but the landing is rough anyway.

            Dean rubs Sam’s sweaty back, both of them stuck fast together with lube and come, Sam still halfway inside him.  God, he’s not ready to be left empty just yet so he lies there, holding Sam to him and just _basking._ They’re good at this, not saying a damn thing to each other after sex because really, what is there?

            Well, there is _one_ thing.

            “You’re fuckin’ _nasty,_ you know that right?”  Dean tries to inject some humor into it but honestly, he’s way too tired right now.  Sam actually manages to chuckle and it shakes Dean, making him feel even more warm and… warm.

            “Like you would let me get away with anything other than nasty – and I uh, I’m sorry about saying I’d knock you up.”  Sam’s actually embarrassed right now, the blush shining right through his post-coital flush. 

            Dean manages to laugh, reaching down between their bodies and adjusting himself so that his junk isn’t quite as squished between them.  “Don’t be, it was kinda hot.”  Dean hasn’t said out loud that he likes it when Sam gets filthy like that but… actions speak for themselves.  “And with the way you were going at it…”

            Sam shudders and pulls his softened dick out of Dean, rolling them so that he’s pressed up against his back – it’s nice, really nice, even if it does make a metric fuckton of come and lube run out of Dean’s body and onto the bed.  He doesn’t squirm away – much.  “Let’s not tempt fate – in our line of work…”

            “And since you were recently covered in vampire goo…”

            Really, Dean deserves the hard smack to the ass Sam gives him.

            Still hurts, though.

           

           

 

 

 

 

           

           

 

           

           


End file.
